


I Met You Along This Crazy Adventure That We Call Life

by Wealthywetsunny



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Angst, F/M, John and Rook are exes, Mentions of past sexual acts, Rook isn’t too pleased to see John again, Verbal Fighting, mentions of past relationships - Freeform, physical fighting, their breakup went...very unexpectedly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:48:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27620231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wealthywetsunny/pseuds/Wealthywetsunny
Summary: John’s happy. Confident, too. Chin tipped back and hands laced behind his back. Proud as a peacock. Years ago Rook would’ve done anything to see him like this.In fact, she did, didn’t she? She tried everything. She sacrificed everything. And he left her, for what? For this?
Relationships: Female Deputy | Judge/John Seed
Comments: 6
Kudos: 32





	I Met You Along This Crazy Adventure That We Call Life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [9shadowcat9](https://archiveofourown.org/users/9shadowcat9/gifts).



John looks good. 

No, scratch that. He looks better than good. He’s  _ happy _ . Confident, too. Chin tipped back and hands laced behind his back. Proud as a peacock. Years ago Rook would’ve done anything to see him like this. 

In fact, she did, didn’t she? She tried everything. She  _ sacrificed _ everything. And he left her, for what? For this? 

The worst part is, she isn’t too shocked to see him. Rook, as much as it pains her to admit, doesn’t truly think John’s ever been a good man. If someone asked her years ago about John Duncan, the man who slipped between her fingers and disappeared out of her life without so much as a note goodbye, she’d tell them that he won’t make it past 25. And if he does, by some miracle, then he’d no doubt end up in jail for one thing or another. 

Now that he’s in front of her, acting as a ghost from her past, it seems like a bit of an oversight now, to not have warned the whole world about him. To, at the very least, not have chased after him and demand an explanation. 

She tries to find a peice of John Duncan in this new man, in John  _ Seed _ , and she isn’t left disappointed. He hasn’t changed too much, truth be told. He’s got the same slicked back hair and polished shoes, the same styled shirt that has its first few buttons undone, the same snarky little grin on his face like he knows something you don’t. 

One thing he is missing though, that became synonymous with the savvy lawyer she had known, are those strung out eyes—they’re no longer dilated and glossy. 

He’s not high, Christ she’d go as far to say that he looks  _ healthy _ . 

His skin isn’t pale and sweaty, his hair isn’t as greasy as it had been so many nights ago when she pet through it and whispered soft pleas in his ear to “please stay, John, I care about you and you’re  _ killing _ yourself.”

Rook feels a rush of anger swell up inside her belly. 

She should say something instead of stewing in her emotions. She should ask if he remembers her, just to make those blue eyes focus on her, to stop them from bouncing around sporadically. 

Rook takes a step forward, uncaring about the audience around her as she takes center stage so to speak. There’s a hand on her shoulder, Whitehorse as he tells her to go ahead and do her job, arrest the bastard. For a moment John glances at her—just a mere second—and she goes still. Waiting for recognition to light up his face. For him to breathe out her name and just acknowledge the time they shared together that she still thinks about. 

He looks away. Back to the Marshall. 

Fuck. Him. 

Rook must let out some sort of noise, something between a growl and a snarl that gets trapped in her throat, because Joseph’s gaze snaps to her curiously before she shoves past him and storms up on their damn stage. 

She isn’t sure if anyone tries to stop her, too focused on John, who doesn’t actually realize that she’s headed for him until she raises her hand and slaps him hard enough to make him stumble back a step. 

There’s a beat of silence before he speaks. Just a soft “I...feel like I deserved that somehow.” He peers at her, bottom lip jutting out slightly. And it’s at this point that Rook becomes aware that the only thing holding everyone back from tearing her apart is because he’s so eerily calm. “Do I know you?”

John glances over her shoulder and raises a hand. Most likely to keep someone from grabbing her shoulders and shooting her between the eyes to keep her away from their precious herald.

“Well?” He prods, tilting his head—she hates that, how fast he recovers.

“Yeah.” She blinks owlishly at him, rocking on her heels. Feeling self conscious all of a sudden. “You know me. We met in Atlanta.” 

His lips twist into a knowing grimace. “Brothers and sisters,” he steps around her, keeping a wide berth as if she may strike him again, “the locusts have come into our garden to not only steal away the Father but to smear your perception of us.”

The response he gets from the crowd is immediate: Anger. A hot wave of it that’s thrown their way that makes her shake with the idea that her impulsiveness may get them all killed. 

“This one here,” he points behind him at her with a half smile on his face, “brings up my past, and with it my sins. But everyone here has sinned, even I, your Baptist.” He takes his hand and places it over his heart, rubbing in slow circles. 

It’s a pretty good act. 

Rook scoffs and steps forward, grabbing a hold of his wrist to spin him back around. 

“Just tell me why.”

He raises an eyebrow. Not understanding. 

“My name is Rook. Rook Williams, I met you in Atlanta when you were 23.” She’s babbling, she knows that but she can’t stop it. “You were my sister’s lawyer, and when I came by to talk about how I was going to pay you—you were drunk, in your own office. Your pants were undone hanging around your hips and you stank of weed.” 

John looks more bemused than anything. But that’s because he's missing the point of her little tirade. She’s not here to humiliate him or make his cultists think any less of him. She wants him to remember her. 

Her grip tightens on his wrist, nails digging in. 

“Rookie,” the Marshall hisses, “get your ass back here and do your damn job!” 

She ignores Burke, staring only at John. “I took care of you.”

John’s about to answer, lips parting briefly, but Joseph cuts him off. His soft voice floating through the church. “Is that true, John?”

John’s shoulders hunch and he looks down. Away. “I do recall meeting you, deputy Rook.”

“‘Meeting me?’ We lived together!” 

He hums, but it’s no longer self assured. He shakes off her grip and tugs at the lapels of his coat. Carefully he goes to stand away from her, just barely behind his eldest brother. 

He’s big. Fucking tall and broad as they come.

Rook is strung too tight to really take in the threat he may pose. But maybe that’s because he doesn’t look angry, not like he did when they walked in, he’s sort of...laughing? Trying to hide it though. He’s enjoying the show they’re putting on.

“Deputy Rook, if you truly care about me like you’re insinuating then you’d understand the importance of walking away. I’m happy here with my family. Now kindly get off our stage, out of our church, and let us save these people.”

She doesn’t hear what Burke yells, something filthy directed towards the whole family that makes the young woman in the pretty white dress go pink in the face. 

Rook takes a step back in line with her superiors. Into the center aisle. Where most of Joseph’s congregation is piled up, chomping at the bit to tear them apart. All Joseph has to do is say the word and they’re dead. 

“I looked for you, y’know…” she catches his eyes and grinds her teeth when he looks away. “I thought something terrible happened to you—I got the cops involved.” She takes a step forward and is immediately met with a solid wall of people. 

Joseph parts them, mumbles something she can’t hear and they’re calming down. Just slightly. Enough for her to get close again. And she’s sure she doesn’t imagine the way big brother nudges John forward, towards her. 

Someone’s having fun with this. 

“I was so worried, and you know where I finally fucking found you?” She casts her hateful gaze around, a manic laugh bubbling up from her chest. “The cops checked your socials—made me feel like a fool—you were at a  _ party _ .” 

That alone doesn’t elicit a reaction, and Rook has to wonder just how much these strangers know about his past and why he’d ever tell them. What has he turned into? 

“You were doing body shots and snorting coke off some slut’s tits.” 

Okay, maybe she shouldn’t have said  _ that _ , maybe not in this environment surrounded by so many people. 

The whispers around her aren’t quite posed as that—whispers, they’re certainly loud enough for her to pick up bits and pieces. 

_ “He...what?” _

_ “Our Herald?” _

_ “No—“ _

_ “Well, he's not denying it.” _

John’s face is red all the way up to his ears. Finally he jumps forward, nearly tripping in his haste. His fists are clenched by his side as he snarls out a sharp “enough! All of you!” He shoves people out of the way just to get to her. Ignoring Joseph’s call for him as he stops inches from her face. 

“I’ve sinned, yes, I can admit that. I’ve atoned for all that.” He casts his eyes around and no one is bold enough to look at him directly. “Don’t whisper about me when I’m right here, for fucks sake!” 

The red head huffs, arms crossing over his chest. “At ease, Johnny.”

“No!” He half turns to glare at his family. “Shut up, Jacob. This…this harlot has no right!” He jams a finger in her face and Burke is grabbing his hand immediately, shoving it back down with a thinly veiled threat of assaulting an officer. 

John’s nostrils flare. “You’re not special,” he whispers to her. “Don’t act all high and mighty just because I spent a year with you.  _ It meant nothing.” _

This time when Rook hits him it’s with a closed fist. He saw it coming though, and locked his knees so he wouldn’t go falling back. That doesn’t stop the crack of his nose, or the blood that suddenly bursts out. 

“Rookie! Stand down!” Hands pull her away, Whitehorse and Burke tugging at her until there’s a considerable amount of distance between them. 

She’s breathing heavy, shaking her hand out because  _ ouch,  _ that fucking hurt. 

“We want these charges to stick,” Burke snarls at her, “you’re gonna fuck everything because you can’t control yourself. I swear to god if you just screwed us I’ll have your badge, deputy.” 

He ends up being the one to put the cuffs on Joseph’s wrists, though he does hand him off to her. Burke doesn’t have to say anything else—she gets the message loud and clear. 

Her hand tightens on Joseph’s shoulder, nails digging in until the muscles in his back goes taut and he sucks in a breath. 

“Child—“

“I should warn you that anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”

He keeps talking as if she hadn’t said a thing. Almost unaffected by the crowd they’re drawing as they step outside. “John spoke of you, you know. As much as his wrath gets in the way—I remember him talking about you once he was clean.” He looks at her over his shoulder, eyeing her like she’s some interesting specimen. “I wondered what you saw in him back then to reach out, even if he was at his worst. You’re a good person, deputy Rook. Hopefully you’ll do the right thing tonight.” 

Her lips go tight and she shoves him forward. He hadn’t been expecting it and his hip ends up banging against the side of the helicopter. 

Burke rolls his eyes and mutters something she ignored as she climbs in. Flinching back when they put Joseph beside her. 

He laughs softly at that. Leaning in closer. And within the chaos, as they lift up off the ground and almost immediately spiral out of control—Joseph sings to her. That same smile on his face like he’s oh-so happy to have her here. 

Things go black with a sharp  _ crack  _ of her skull and she’s glad for the blessed darkness. Even if the last thing she hears is Joseph’s coaxing voice. Promising salvation beside his baby brother. 

.0.

John dabs at the gash on her forehead with the care of a surgeon. He hasn’t said anything since she woke up, and it’s almost easier to keep her eyes closed. To pretend that she’s sleeping even if they both know otherwise. 

“Joseph says I have to be better. He doesn’t like my methods as of late,” he sighs heavily and shoots her a wry sort to grin shared between friends. The chair he's sitting on creaks as he shifts his weight. “So I’ll be taking care of you. Nurse John, it has a ring to it, huh?” 

If it didn’t hurt so much to laugh, if she didn’t have a handkerchief acting as a gag that’s pulling at her chapped lips, she’d fucking laugh her ass off. 

Him? Taking care of her? She’d rather be left with a pack of wolves. She’d rather Joseph let her burn in that helicopter instead of pulling her from the wreckage. 

He brushes the wet cloth down her cheek, scrubbing away at the dirt. “I suppose this is meant to prove something.” He shrugs and goes lower, swiping at her collarbone at a particularly deep cut that’ll probably need stitches. “Joseph’s right about a lot of things so…” he leaves his sentence hanging and leans back. Giving her skin a brief reprieve. He must notice the way she relaxes for once and he laughs.

“Sorry, Jacob’s much better at this stuff then I am. I don’t know much about wounds.”

Rook closes her eyes and tips her head away, falling easily into the plush mountain of pillows stacked behind her. 

She keeps still as she hears him stand up, fingers clenching and unclenching under the blankets as he moves about his room. Or what she assumes is his room—it’s certainly lavish enough. 

When he sits back down and tips her jaw in his direction her eyes snap back open. Darting around his face then lower, to where she can see sloth carved into his skin. 

“He said I can’t mark you yet, if that’s what you’re worried about.” John’s got a tray balanced on his knee, stacked high with bandages and creams. “I’m just supposed to make you strong enough to get back on your feet.”

She speaks behind the gag, muffled and strained as it is. John pauses and blinks at her, leaning over to pull it out. 

It takes a second to unstick her tongue from the roof of her mouth. For her to wet her lips and finally say what she wants to. 

“Then what?” She rasps, flinching at the clatter of metal as he moves things around on the tray. 

His head is tipped down, hair hanging in his eyes. “Hm?”

“After I’m better. Then what?”

He picks up an alcohol pad and tears it open with his teeth, holding it above her forehead with a mumbled “this is gonna hurt,” which is more of a warning then she expected from him. He cleans it properly before answering her question. “I don’t know, honestly. I wish I did.” 

He cleans the cuts on her chest and the ones trailing down her arms in silence. Brows pinched as he focuses. 

“You seem calmer,” she mumbles just as he’s rolling out a strip of gauze to put over her forehead. 

“I have my moments—and it helps that Joseph is downstairs, he’ll want to see you when I’m done here.” His hands smooth down the gauze, tapping it a second later. He moves onto her arms, placing tiny bandages on the cuts there before he falls back with a muted thud. 

“There. All done.” He looks at her with a strange expression she can’t place. “You should try and rest before I send Joseph up.” 

Rook nods. Squirming in place as her ribs throb—nothing he can do would fix that—the chain around her ankle clanks noisily and she sees a flicker of annoyance pass over his face at the sound. 

“It’s just like old times, isn’t it, deputy? One of us taking care of the other?” He doesn’t give her time to answer, speaking over her half hearted croaks. “Strange that we’d meet again all these years later, almost as if God planned it to be this way.” He paces the foot of the bed. Lost in thought, maybe. “I think...perhaps I overreacted, back at the church—but you have to understand that Joseph’s flock comes before everything—and you were ruining it all in just a few moments.” 

He stops pacing, staring out the large bay window to her left. “Joseph says the reaping is here. You don’t know what that means yet, but you will soon, and you’ll realize what that then means for me. Joseph says I don’t have long left...once the first seal opens…” he trails off and shakes his head. 

His silence gives her a moment to speak but her thoughts are all muddled together—she might have a concussion. 

“I don’t want to die,” he whispers so softly that she’s not sure if she had been meant to hear it. “I think you can prevent that...or you’ll be the one to carry out the act. It all depends on me, what I do now with you and the sinners out there.” A shudder runs through his body as he turns towards the door, fleeing from the turgid atmosphere he created. 

Rook closes her eyes. Trembling despite the pile of blankets laid over her hips. She’s never killed anyone before. She can’t imagine killing John. No matter how volatile he is right now—he’s  _ John.  _ He used to be her best friend, her confidant, someone she thought she could love. 

She won’t kill him. 

She won’t. 


End file.
